


friends and allies of the witcher

by theamazingbard



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Focus on Yennefer/Jaskier friendship, M/M, Mental Torture, Mentions of food and drink anxieties, Nilfgaard, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29075934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingbard/pseuds/theamazingbard
Summary: Yennefer crawls over to her newest cellmate. They’re curled up on their side. Breathing, but only just. She’s not sure what she’s hoping for when she turns them over. Still isn’t when she sees that it is indeed Jaskier.“Shit."-Yennefer and Jaskier each suffer in more ways than one at the hands of Nilfgaard.(a series of interconnected drabbles)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 135
Kudos: 273





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cross posted from my tumblr

Even in darkness, Jaskier’s head swims. 

He turns his head from side to side, trying to shake the feeling. “Wh-” Unable to open his eyes quite yet, for fear of being in a less than favorable place, Jaskier runs his sore fingers over the nearby surfaces. 

Beneath him, he can feel soft silks and furs. There are fresh, clean clothes on his back. Bandages wrapped around his arms. The most strange, however, is the dip in the bed beside him. “Where am I?” 

“Kaer Morhen,” Replies a familiar voice. 

Jaskier’s eyes snap open. “Geralt?” 

Somehow, the witcher whom he hasn’t seen since the dragon hunt, is sitting mere inches away. Light shines in from a window just behind him, making his silver hair turn gold at the ends. He’s smiling, too. A small curve of his lips. 

“I don’t understand. What am I doing here?” Slowly, he sits up, gripping his side. 

“Easy. You were with them for a while.”

“Them?” 

“Nilfgaard.” 

“ _Nilfgaard?_ That’s…” He presses a hand to his head, and winces when he discovers a wound on his temples. “No, I don’t… When did that happen? When did any of this…” 

Geralt pulls his hand away from his head and holds it in his own. It’s warm, warmer than Jaskier has ever remembered it being. “Yennefer and I came to get you when we heard.” He runs his thumb back and forth over the back of his hand. “I… We couldn’t leave you there.” 

Jaskier snorts. “I’m sure Yennefer could have.”

“She’s worried.” 

This time, Jaskier laughs. “I must have hit my head harder than I though! Which, admittedly, I don’t really know how hard that might be. But Yennefer doesn’t give a shit about me, Geralt. I didn’t even think _you_ -” He cuts himself off and pulls his hand out of Geralt’s. “Ah, well. I suppose I should thank you from saving me from Nilfgaard’s clutches.” 

“I’d do it again. Always. You’re my friend, Jaskier.” Geralt’s words are softly spoken. And though it’s a nice change to hear, his heart still feels a bit like it’s gone through a meat grinder. “I… I do have to ask you some questions. Before you sleep. Yennefer said that we should… see how much you remember.” 

“It’s not much. A bit of a fog, really.” 

“Where are we?” 

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I know I may have lost a bit of time, but I _can_ retain information I learned information just minutes ago, Geralt. Kaer Morhen.” 

Once again, Geralt sits on the bed, just as close to him as he was before. “Where is Kaer Morhen, Jaskier?” 

“Wh- I don’t know! You never told me that!” He shakes his head. “And, as far as I can tell, I was very much passed out for the last few hours. Or however long it took you to rescue me.” 

“Hm.” Geralt shifts so he’s sitting even closer. “Any of the safe houses? Any place we might have stayed? This is important.” 

The proximity is almost as baffling as the question. For a moment, all Jaskier can do is stare at the witcher. “Safe houses? If you have any, you’ve never told me where they’d be. And I still don’t know where we are. How could I possibly-” 

Geralt reaches out and brushes his fingers down the side of Jaskier’s face, just shy of the wound. “Please, Jaskier.” 

It’s with this gentle action that the fog clears out from Jaskier’s head. He closes his eyes and swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “You’re not Geralt.”

“Jaskier?”

“I remember. I _remember_. And if you people did any _decent_ mind altering realities, you’d realize-”

The world plunges into an inky blackness once more.

-

Fringilla sighs. 

The bard is laid out on a simple table, arms and legs cuffed. Injuries to his head and arms are starting to clot. He’s beginning to sweat. Mumbles each time he goes under. She narrows her eyes and hums. 

“Ma’am? Why don’t we just torture him?” 

“Because…” If anyone is to be tortured, it’s the man next to her. Distracting her with his inane questions. “People in pain will tell you what you want to hear. Anything, even if it’s not true. If he’s talking with someone he trusts… someone he _loves_ , it will be real, valuable information.” 

“Oh. Then… how many times do we have to do this?” 

Her hand begins to glow as she presses a hand to his forehead. “Until we get it right.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cross posted from my tumblr

Yennefer would prefer that the torture start sooner rather than later. Sitting in a prison for long periods of time was dreadfully boring from the start. Now it’s teetering on terminally stupid. A waste of time for everyone involved.

She sighs and settles against the cold stone wall, closing her eyes and listening to each drip of this musty dungeon. 

If not for the dimeritium cuffs round her wrists, she would burn this entire fortress to the ground. The Nilfgaardians know that more than anyone. Some of their knights are still smoldering after the events of Sodden Hill. All it takes is a knowing look and a smile to get them to stomp their little feet.

They know who the real power is.

She meditates on this, dreams of the day that she can take her revenge and destroy them all. But her daydreaming is interrupted by the sound of pretentious white robes whipping about in the windy, cavernous shit hole they stuck her in.

Fringilla appears, an absolutely loathsome smirk stretched across her face. She holds her head high, and her eyes glint the same way they did in Aretuza when she had the highest marks.

“Enjoying your time here, Yenna?” The sorceress turned zealot clasps her hands in front of her; a parody of courtly manners.

“Immensely.” She deadpans.

“You will have to forgive me for thinking that you’d be lonely in here. Especially after all of Aretuza has abandoned you.” Fringilla looks behind her, gesturing to the two knights following behind her. Yennefer is surprised to see there are no leashes involved. “In here. Go now, quickly.”

The knights throw in a body that is covered in what was once expensive, colorful silks. Whoever it is (and Yennefer has a terrible fucking feeling about whom it might be,) does not make a sound. She does not give Fringilla the satisfaction of deigning the man even a spare glance.

Frustratingly, her former sister appears to be happy with her work regardless of Yennefer’s lack of reaction. “Let her see what happens to friends and allies of the witcher.”

The three of them all look down at her for a moment longer.

Yennefer holds her head high and sniffs the air. “Can’t quite get the burning out of your fine clothes, can you?”

Smoke might as well be coming out of Fringilla’s ears when she scowls, her look so fierce. They haven’t forgotten, even now. And so they leave, a little more dejected and less confident than when they entered the room.

Once gone, Yennefer crawls over to her newest cellmate. They’re curled up on their side. Breathing, but only just. She’s not sure what she’s hoping for when she turns them over. Still isn’t when she sees that it is indeed Jaskier.

“Shit,” She mutters. A quiet Jaskier is a new thing to her. The fogged, distant look in his eyes gives her _some_ idea of what Fringilla has been doing with him, but it’s unclear how long she’s been doing it.

_Useless,_ she thinks. What lesson is this meant to teach her? That Fringilla will destroy her mind, too? Unlikely. Not unless they take the cuffs off. No one here has the balls to do that.

The blank staring is beginning to creep her out. She rolls him back over. It’s only a matter of time before he dies from dehydration, starvation, or whatever disease this cage is surely crawling with now that Fringilla is done with him.

Yennefer looks at his back at wonders: did he give away any secrets? Was he forced to live his worst nightmares? Or was his pretty little head filled with nothing but vapid songs?

She sighs. No, Jaskier didn’t deserve this. It was easy, then, to make fun of him. Rile him up. Now, though, it would be pathetic to torment a dying vegetable of a man.

If he had any of his wits about him, he might be able to help her out of the damn magic cuffs. Without magic, that would take a lot of time and effort. A sense of nurturing and compassion. Caring for someone she otherwise wouldn’t give a damn about.

And then she thinks about rotting away in this damp prison cell, Fringilla’s smug face haunting her for the rest of her days.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx for reading and commenting helps keep me going
> 
> xoxo


	3. Chapter 3

Someone is running their fingers through Jaskier’s hair. 

But, no, that can’t be right. 

He knows by now that he can’t trust anything. They’ve been digging in his mind for… well, that’s a tricky question, isn’t it? Can’t even trust his sense of time. Each vision has blurred into the next, the first one having long melted away. 

Jaskier can’t even remember when or how he was taken. 

At one point, he must have known the witcher. He _must_ have known Geralt. That’s what they want to know about. All of the witcher’s secrets and hideaways. 

Loyalty is what stayed his tongue in the first place. Confusion replaced it over time. 

Still, they must be growing desperate. Whoever they’ve conjured to touch him like this is obviously somewhat out of practice. It’s been ages since he’s had a paramour (probably). 

Unless Nilfgaard has reached the part of his brain that likes it a little rough? Truly, they’ve shown there is no corner of his mind that they are content to leave untainted. 

Despite this, Jaskier still prays that his songs are left alone. Out there, in the real world, are his creations. They cannot take those away from him. 

Of course, those could be a lie. A fabrication they’ve inserted into him. Along with all the other bullshit they’ve stuffed into him. 

The fingers in his hair tug. While pain isn’t necessarily a tactic they’ve used thus far, Jaskier wouldn’t be surprised if they eventually resorted to such unspeakable acts. He whimpers. What a coward he’s become. 

“Can you finally hear me?” 

Jaskier has become adept at drowning out the voices. All their pretty words covering up an interrogation of sorts. How has he allowed himself to let one slip by his already weak defenses? He struggles away from their grip, but they hold tight. 

“You’re waking up, aren’t you? Good,” It doesn’t hurt as much now. Strangely, this makes him feel worse. “Listen. You’re in a Nilfgaardian dungeon. You’ve been here for three days. You need to drink.” 

These demands are so unlike the ones he’s gotten recently. Less questions involved too. A new tactic? Must be. Jaskier tries again to escape his captor’s grip. “I _will_ force this water down your throat. You will die otherwise. I assume you’d prefer not to do that.” 

No, Jaskier doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to choke, either. Yet he can’t allow this illusion to continue to take advantage of him. “Don’t believe y- I don’t believe-” 

“Oh, for…” Water, stale and musty enters his mouth. He nearly spits it all out, panicked by the sudden sensation. It’s been so long since it’s had a taste. Since anything has had a taste. 

Jaskier looks around him. Really _looks_. There is a dungeon with a stone wall and dirty floors and a gross cot and bars and dust and and and 

“Yennefer?” 

But, _no_ , this _can’t be right_. She’s never been in the illusions. Thus far they’ve tried to appeal to what they think he’s wanted. “I… I don’t understand.” His head grows lighter as the darkness creeps in. The end to another cruel dream, he thinks. 

The sorceress smiles. “Don’t worry,” She tells him, her voice far away. “You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really appreciate comments. thank you for taking the time to read this
> 
> xoxoxo


	4. Chapter 4

Yennefer is not a healer. It is not a field she spent her time focusing on in Aretuza. She has even less knowledge on what magic can do to the mind. The lingering affects it can have. 

Seeing them first hand in the form of Jaskier, sitting across from her and distrust coloring his every movement, is an education she’s never wanted. 

The sooner she convinces him to get her out of these cuffs the better. Rushing, however, could prove to be detrimental. If only the man would _work_ with her. “You need to eat.” 

He scoffs and looks away. At least his eyes aren’t as dead as they were days ago. Now, though. Now he barely looks at her. Barely _speaks_. How is she meant to get him to trust her if he doesn’t even give her a chance? 

_Fucking Fringilla_. Yennefer suspects that the illusions she sent has turned every ally Jaskier had into an enemy of sorts. 

That should make things _easier_. They never liked one another, never trusted each other. Jaskier’s mind should not have been poisoned against her. “You will die if you don’t eat. Do you understand me?” 

His breath hitches. Good. He’s listening, then. “Did she withhold food from you? In these visions?” 

Jaskier frowns and looks down at the ground. Mutters something under his breath. 

“Speak up.” 

“You’re just admitting that it’s all fake then? All of it?” 

Against her will, something inside her softens. “Fringilla, the sorceress. She had you under her spell. I don’t know how long, nor do I know what she showed you.” 

This answer does not appease him. She didn’t expect it would. “That was all fake,” he agrees. “And so is this. This isn’t real. It’s _not real_.” 

Frustration begins to bubble up to the surface. “If it’s not real, then there’s no reason for you not to eat the fucking bread.” She stands up and walks across the small cell, then thrusts the stale husk towards Jaskier. “So eat.” 

“Fuck off.” 

She smiles. “Bread first.” 

He snatches the bread out of her hands and shoves it into his mouth. Rips into it with his teeth. And then… And then his eyes begin to well up with tears. Yennefer takes a step backwards. 

What the _fuck_ is she supposed to do with that?

Jaskier, suddenly ravenous, scarfs down the bread. He cries more. Snot begins to run down his nose. At one point, he even sobs. 

For the first time, Yennefer is grateful for the cuffs around her wrists. She has no idea what she’d do with her hands if they were free. 

“It’s like the water,” he chokes out.

“What?” She frowns. The water had been it’s own battle. Forcing it down his throat was not her first choice. He had been through enough. That was when the coherency really started. Yennefer had thought it was because he hadn’t had anything substantial in some time. Now there’s this. “How?” 

But the wariness creeps back. The bread is gone. This clue is too invaluable to let go. “Jaskier, tell me.” 

He remains silent. His nerves bounce about in the air. Yennefer can see it when he begins to retreat into himself once more. “No!” She sits on the ground next to him, right at eye level. “Jaskier. Fringilla isn’t stupid. But neither are you. To create illusions for that long, that many times? There are details that she would have skipped out on. You know what they are.” 

It’s only a theory, of course. A good one. But still a theory. “Look around you. Is this _anything_ like one of her nightmares? _Think_. Was it that the water wasn’t cold? Lacked taste, or texture?” 

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. 

Patience, she remembers. 

But patience is going to do fuck all if Nilfgaard decides to kill them first. She swears and goes back to her own miserable corner. 

It has taken time to accept that she cannot unleash her chaos at will. But she didn’t understand how well and truly powerless she was until now. 

What a stupid fucking way to die. 

“T-taste,” 

Her head shoots up. 

“Nothing ever had any taste. I-” He shakes his head again. “ _Fuck_. Is this real? It’s not. Is it? Fuck. I’ve… I’ve just fucked myself. I really have. Now you… now you know and can change that, too.” 

“This is _real_ Jaskier. Keep looking at the details,” She wrings her hands together. This trust, small as it is, is the spark she’s been looking for. “This could never be a dream.” 

“And if it isn’t?” His gaze is heavy and red-rimmed. “Then I’m in prison. With _you.”  
_

Yennefer bites her lip. She huffs out a breath. 

Jaskier smiles in return; a fragile, wavering expression. 

“You get your head on straight,” she promises. “And we get out of here.” 

He sighs, already turning his head away and gaze growing distant once more. “Yeah. Sure.” 

They still have a ways to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaah i can't tell you it happy it makes me to receive comments. i'm serious you guys it's brilliant ilysm <3 <3 
> 
> xoxoxo


	5. Chapter 5

Jaskier is certain that this is not a dream. 

Probably. 

_Maybe.  
_

It would be the longest lasting vision thus far. One where he’s trapped in a dungeon with Yennefer of Vengerberg of all people. And, for the first time, food and drink has _flavor_. True, the flavor is terribly stale. Under any other circumstances, he would refuse such terrible service. Unfortunately for him, it’s that very food and water that’s keeping him even the tiniest bit grounded. 

He’ll store crumbs in his dirty pockets. Sip at the water every few minutes. 

Every time doubt rears it’s ugly head, he nibbles on a the small bit of ration he’s been allowed. 

Yennefer encourages him in her own way. Giving him food. Making sure he’s drinking enough water. Talks him through the confusion and the panic. 

There are times when Jaskier watches her sleep. Looks for details that a dream might not have. Wonders. 

Is she playing him?

Of course he wants to believe that this is real. That all the lies are over. But sorceresses, magic, Nilfgaard… all of it is shrouded in shadows. They’ve cast him into the darkness now, too. 

And _Geralt_. The name sticks in his throat, the taste bitter and vile. They want to know all about _Geralt_. The witcher who somehow slips away from everyone and everything. Funny how they were so sure that Jaskier wouldn’t see through his supposed kindness. 

Maybe it’s unfair of him to complain about Geralt. But of the two of them, Jaskier is the one sitting in prison. Not the witcher. As far as he’s concerned, he’s earned a bit of petty anger. 

With Yennefer, it’s more complicated. He doesn’t know her, not really. Certainly not outside the context of _Geralt.  
_

He knows a few things. She’s not a nice person. Any kindness she shows is suspect. Yennefer does what she has to to get what she wants. 

Though, what she’d want from Jaskier is beyond him. What more does he have to give? Nothing but the filthy clothes on his back. If he wasn’t so hungry all the time, he could share his food. That, however, she insists on giving to him. 

So she wants something. Or she’s an illusion. 

Hard to say. 

Jaskier has yet to really talk to one of these characters implanted in his mind. Once he knew for sure they were fake, he cut them out. Stopped talking. But now, it’s necessary. The dream has gone on and on. It's unnatural to hold one's tongue for so long.

“What do you want from me?” He asks, three days after waking in her lap. 

“Is this you admitting this is all real?” 

“Not a chance.” 

Yennefer smiles and narrows her eyes. “Sure you don’t.” 

“Indulge me then.” 

She raises a brow. Even covered in dirt, sweat, and blood, she looks beautiful. “What have I been doing all this time, if not indulging you?” 

“Forget it then!” He says with a scowl. Crossing his arms, he turns away and looks at the cold iron bars. 

A moment of silence passes between them. It’s not usually so quiet in the dreams. Normally, _Geralt_ is cooing over him. Tending to wounds. Handing him something to drink. Apologizing. Jaskier was never left alone to just _be.  
_

Another point for reality, then. 

Across from him, Yennefer sighs. “I have a plan to get out of here. But I need you to trust me. That’s what I want.” 

The request weighs heavy on his shoulders. Escape is such a delicious concept. Fine food, wine, and company all lie beyond the confines of these walls. And it’s because he wants it so bad that he hesitates. Doubt sweeps over him, like the ocean at high tide. 

“Just a few minutes of trust. One minute. Anything at all.” 

“Sure. Just enough time for you to do whatever it is you will with me.” 

Yennefer closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Jaskier. We simply do not have the time to wait around for you to recover the way you need to,” He winces and clenches his jaw. Of course Yennefer sees the darkness the witch left behind in him. “Once we get out of here I will give you charms. Space. Food. Whatever it is you require. But we must act soon. Do you understand?” 

Jaskier swallows. His heart beats faster in his chest. He plays with the frayed end of his shirt. “How… How soon?” 

“I don’t _know_. But they will grow bored. Or they will want to interrogate us. The fact is Fringilla will grow desperate the longer she cannot find _Geralt_.” She spits the name out with as much bitterness as Jaskier might. But her violet eyes show no fear; only determination. “You have to trust me for _one_ minute or we will lose _everything_.” 

He squeaks out a laugh. “No pressure, then.” 

She rolls her eyes and lets out a short sigh. It’s oddly comforting. Her do lips twitch into something almost resembling a smile. Jaskier wants to see what she looks like happy. The surest sign he isn’t completely right in the head thus far. 

For the first time since he woke up in this reality, he stands and moves to sit next to her. He casts her a short glance before looking back down at the ground. She pats him on the knee twice before moving her cuffed hands back into her lap. 

This is probably not a dream, Jaskier thinks. 

Still, he scrounges out a bit of bread from his pocket and stuffs it into his mouth. 

It tastes stale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love you guys i can't express how much it means to me that you're still commenting the way you are THANK YOU!!!!!!!


	6. Chapter 6

Yennefer rests her head against the grimy stone wall of the prison cell. Sweat dots her hairline. Exhaustion mounts on top of exhaustion. She closes her eyes and soaks in the coolness of the dungeon. 

Around her wrists, the dimeritium cuffs itch something fierce. Her skin is red and irritated. All the chaos inside her gathers like a storm cloud. Unless she has somewhere to redirect the lightning soon, it’s likely that she will implode. Not the most pleasant way to go, but at least it’ll all end on an interesting note. 

Beside her sits Jaskier. For two days now, he’s been inching closer and closer. Talking to her a bit more. But it's the movement of his fingers against his thigh, tapping the beat of one of his songs that ensures her that he's indeed improving. Though, whether or not it’s a new composition, she doesn’t know. Yennefer wonders when she began to care about that. 

“Wh- Hm.” She turns her head in time to see Jaskier look away. He takes a deep breath and meets her gaze. “What’s wrong with you?” 

She snorts. They don’t quite make poets like they used to. “Chaos isn’t meant to be bottled up this long.” 

“Oh. Right.” He frowns. “So, you’re sick, or…” 

Yennefer shrugs. “Over-exposure to demiritiem.” She waves the shackles in the air. They feel heavier than they did in the beginning. Again, she closes her eyes. 

“Say…” 

A long moment passes. Even after the past week, the silence hangs heavy between them. “Yes, Jaskier?” 

“Say I were to trust you. For just a minute. What ah, what would that entail?” 

Had she any energy left, she would whip her head around to meet his gaze. “You…?” 

“I’m not saying I believe you! But…” He nods a few times. “But I’m like… 80% certain? Maybe? I’ve had worse odds than that before. And.” Another sigh. Deeper this time. “Not entirely sure that staying here is going to do me any good. Might as well give it the ole’ college try, eh?” 

Yennefer reaches out and holds his shaking hand in her own. For the first time since he’s become lucid, he doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he places his other hand atop hers. They sit there like that for a few minutes, holding one another. 

“You’re going to have to dislocate my thumbs,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“I beg your fucking pardon?” 

“Jaskier,” she says seriously. “I can’t do anything with these fucking cuffs.” It has been her true cage, one where the walls are ever closing in. And now she has precious few hours left before something deeply terrible sets in. Yennefer isn’t sure what that might be, but she has a pretty good idea it will be damaging for everyone involved. Of course, that could mean taking down Fringilla with her, but Yennefer wants to see the look on her face when she exacts her revenge. 

She lowers her voice, leaning in. To his credit, Jaskier doesn’t flinch away. “I can portal us out of here. Far away. Where they can’t find us. You do this small thing, Jaskier, and I can save us.” 

His hold on her hands tightens. “What if. I don’t know, what if I damage your lovely fingers forever?” 

And, oh, the sentiment that once would have annoyed her now warms her to the core. “There is nothing you can do,” she promises, “That would permanently alter me.” Except, of course, her opinion on him. But that’s not something she’s willing to say out loud. 

Jaskier laughs a little hysterically. “I’m not even sure I know how to properly dislocate a thumb, I’m afraid.” 

Yennefer grins. “It’s about time someone showed you how to defend yourself.” 

“Ah, yes. With this I shall finally escape my tormentors. Would-be assailants, beware! Jaskier the bard knows how to incapacitate- but only should you reach with your thumbs.” 

They share another moment smiling at each other. How strange that they should be here together like this, relying on someone they never hoped to see again. Relying on anyone at all. “Before we get started, you’re going to need to listen carefully.” 

After all, escape plans require a bit more finesse than the sheer dumb luck of a witcher.


	7. Chapter 7

Jaskier will not soon forget the look on Yennefer’s face when he breaks her thumbs. Nor will he forget the relief when she slides the demerituem cuffs off her wrists. How power crackled in the air all around them and the rush of guards that followed.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip broken but strong. The other hand reaches out and wind began to swirl in the shape of a circle.

There was no chance for the guards to even get close enough to unlock the cell. Not with a newly re-energized sorceress.

He remembers feelings pulled inside out, upside down, and thrown sideways when he stepped through the portal.

But he would take that feeling all over again than the frantic uncertainty that he feels now.

Yennefer, barely hanging onto consciousness is leaning heavily into his side. Though she isn’t that heavy, Jaskier has lost muscle mass in his… everywhere.

His cellmate has given him instructions on the whereabouts of her safe house, but plans are easier in theory than they are in practice.

Northeast she said. Northeast he runs.

 _“They’ll come for us,_ ” She warned. _“They can and will track a portal._ ”

Behind him, he can hear heavy footsteps and shouted commands.

Jaskier can’t imagine going back to the cell. If going back to the dungeon is even an option at this point. Whoever comes after them might not be in a hostage keeping kind of mood. So Jaskier runs and runs and runs. 

She promised he would know when to stop. So when he sees a small patch of lilacs growing he takes her word for it, and prays that he’s not as useless as he feels.

As he inches closer, the lilac buds seem to bloom. They grow out of the ground in a large circle, the scent nearly overwhelming. A grand house starts to form. White walls, ivy growing up along the side, huge windows, a smoking chimney, and even a garden.

Fear slams into him, unexpected and intense.

This safe haven is too good to be true. It must be. Any moment now, his world will fade to black. He’ll wake up on a table with Fringilla’s face hovering over him. Then, he’ll sink into darkness once more. Jaskier can’t do that again.

“Jaskier,” Yennefer croaks out. The footsteps, the shouting, and the anger draw closer. “ _Keep going_.”

Though the push was small, it’s enough to get him back into gear. He pushes his way through the panic and towards the house. Jaskier rams his shoulder against the wooden door and stumbles inside.

From what he can see in his frantic state, the inside of the safe house has wonderful (and expensive) looking décor. He escorts Yennefer to the closest resting place: a plush looking sofa. Then, he races towards a dark cabinet with gold inlay.

Inside are various and exotic looking ingredients for all the magic any fine young sorcerer or sorceress might need. Bottles, herbs, and candles, all delicately and meticulously placed on wooden shelves.

Jaskier pushed them all aside for one red candle sitting in the back. He’s thankful that it’s the _only_ red candle, as promised. His eye also catches flint sitting in the corner.

Now in possession of everything, he races back to the window.

His hands shake as he tries to light the candles.

“ _Insurance, Jaskier_ ,” She told him. _“This will insure that no one can find us.”_

Even inside the safe house, he can hear the search party out for their heads. Panicked tears cloud his vision as the flint sparks. “Come on,” He shouts. “Come _on_.” Finally, the candle lights. A nearly invisible field extends from the flame, outside of the house, and around the property.

“Well done,” Yennefer says, her head tilting further into the green velvet of her sofa. “Well done, Jaskier.” Then, her eyes slip closed.

Jaskier looks out the window and sees Fringilla walk close to the field. He holds his breath for a long moment and waits for the world to fade to black.

The sorceress narrows her eyes.

Then turns around and walks away.

All the adrenaline seems to disappear at once. Jaskier falls to his knees and heaves a little. They were so close to being discovered, to being taken away again. Even if this escape is a dream, it’s one he’d like to live in for a few minutes. The prospect of escape so delicious he wouldn’t even care if it was nothing more than an amuse-bouche. For now, at least.

He crawls across the room until he’s able to pull himself up onto the sofa next to Yennefer.

The sorceress looks exhausted. Thumbs swollen. Bags under her eyes. A general sense of being unkempt. Jaskier has never seen her this way before. There may have been a time when a bit of dishevelment would have delighted him. Now, it causes anxiety to swirl within.

She helped them _escape._ Kept him semi-sane throughout their imprisonment. And though he could leave now, run and face the world on his own, he finds that that’s the last thing he wants to do. Instead, he will give himself a moment to breathe. Allow the craziness of the past few minutes to pass.

Then, he will do his best to tend to Yennefer. She deserves that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if i've ever gotten this many comments in my life it makes me so happy uwu thank you <3 <3 <3


	8. Chapter 8

Yennefer wakes up to the feeling of fingers in her hair. She jerks upwards and looks at the offender only to see Jaskier, holding his hands up.

“You’re still here,” She finds herself saying.

To which Jaskier snorts. “Yes, well. Nilfgaard soldiers are patrolling the area looking for us. Forgive me if I’m not too keen on meeting them head on. I imagine it’d be a bit awkward, what with me being a wanted criminal.” He looks down at his lap. Yennefer follows his gaze and notices he’s still adorned in his filthy clothes.

She also notices that her thumbs are in makeshift splints. They aren’t poorly constructed, either. Still, she’d much prefer to heal herself and rip the things off. With her chaos at war with her exhaustion, however, the splints will have to do for now.

“A criminal that’s covered in filth,” She says. “Stand up. I’ll not have you make a mess of the rest of my house.”

Jaskier stands. He begins to tap his fingers against his legs once more. Nerves, rearing its ugly head. After their escape, Yennefer had thought he might snap back to his usual self. What a foolish thought that was. “Come on.”

He follows after her. 

In her room she has a few dressers, all filled to the brim with lavish dresses. In one drawer, and one only, she has clothes for someone else. She pulls out a dark shirt and matching trousers. There’s a bit of embroidery around the neck, sleeves, and along the thigh. Nothing fancy, but certainly serviceable. “Change into these. We’ll throw away those rags.” She pauses. “Unless… you want to keep them?”

“Ah…” Jaskier shakes his head. “No. No, not at all. Thank you.” It comes out sounding more like a question than anything else. He takes the clothes and frowns. “These look like they’ll fit me. That’s amazing. Yennefer, do you have enchanted furniture? Did they guess my size?”

The question pulls a laugh out of her. “No. They were for- well.” Another laugh. This one, bitter.

“Oh.” His grip on the chemise tightens. “Right. Yes, of course.” A beat. “Should I change in here, or is there a room where I might maintain a bit of dignity?”

“There’s hardly any of that, if anything at all,” Yennefer says lightly. “But I’ll leave.” And she takes a new dress, something with a lighter material, before turning out of the room.

After changing, Yennefer goes to the window. There are indeed soldiers walking all about her property. They will not be able to find this place. Not with a considerable amount of power. The house itself is difficult to find with the enchantments and wards placed upon it; the candle is there to grant extra power to those wards. And, even if someone like Fringilla were to come back to look, she would have to have a general sense of where the safe house was in the first place. 

No one will find them here. She will make sure of that.

Her eyes turn to the scarlet candle on the windowsill. A bit of wax has dripped down, but a candle instilled with as much magic as this one should last at least a week. Plenty of time to make another.

“A bit loose around the shoulders, but I think it fits well.”

Yennefer turns around. The clothes _do_ fit Jaskier quite well in everything but color. Seeing him in such a somber palette turns her stomach. She hates that it does. “I need you to go into the garden for me. Collect some food.”

Jaskier pouts, an expression that uses his entire body. “I see that you find no qualms in putting me to work.”

“No, I don’t. Gather the strawberries and the bright yellow herbs.”

“Strawberries? But they’re out of season!”

Yennefer gestures to herself.

“Magic! Right. Would there be a…”

“There’s a basket outside already. Go on.” While she watches him practically scamper out the door, she smiles to herself. Fruit is normally such a small pleasure, but denying either of them that now seems like a fucking stupid idea. Why shouldn’t they have dessert? They damn well earned it. She’d be out there herself, enjoying the juices from the ripe strawberries were it not for her hands.

Tomorrow she will get back to work. Make plans for further escape from Nilfgaard’s forces.

Today they will rest.

Later, when they’re seated at the table, Yennefer watches Jaskier. Watches him pick at his food. It’s nothing more than a small vegetable dinner with a side of potatoes. But he doesn’t shovel anything into his mouth the way she thought he might.

Yennefer reaches across the table and grips one of his hands. “Eat something.”

Jaskier lets out a shaking breath. He spears a green bean and brings it to his mouth. A complicated emotion crosses his face when he begins to chew.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Okay.”

They finish dinner and eat as many strawberries as they damn well please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ilu guys so much <3 <3 <3 thank you seriously


	9. Chapter 9

Well into the night, the guards of Nilfgaard continue to look around the area. Jaskier can hear them shout orders at one another. Sometimes they get close to the border, looking deeply beyond, as if he they can see the safe house.

From the window, Jaskier watches them all. He’s not sure what he would do if they broke through the invisible barrier, but he can’t stand staying in the room Yennefer so generously offered to him. So he’s out here, on the sofa, watching people look for him.

He brings his knees up and hugs his legs. Odd that he was just in a prison cell earlier today. It feels like he left part of his soul in that dusty place. Jaskier wonders if he’ll feel that piece of him rot away, even from afar. He sighs.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier snaps his head to the right to see Yennefer in a soft looking white shift. Her hair hangs in loose, greasy curls.

“Can’t sleep.”

“Ah,” She crosses the short distance between the threshold to her room to sit beside him on the sofa. “And you think sitting here winding yourself up will help?”

Jaskier purses his lips together and rolls his eyes. “So what if I do? I certainly don’t judge how you fall asleep. Though, oddly, it doesn’t look like you’re faring much better than I.”

Yennefer studies him. He squirms under her gaze. Then, she leans into his side, tucking her head between his neck and shoulder. Slowly, he rests his head against hers. Outside of the dungeon, he didn’t dare to think this was something he could have.

“The dreams… they’d always fade to black, in the end. Every time.” His heart begins to race. “Back.” A deep breath. “Back in the dungeon it was okay. I would wake up in the same place. Feeling the same way. But now-“

“Now that you’re safe, you’re afraid that it’s Fringilla again.”

He swallows the growing lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

“You said before you never saw me in these illusions,” She tilts her head upwards, looking at his profile. “And things had taste at dinner tonight.”

Again, he nods. “True. But what if. What if she found something or- Ow! Son of a- Did you just pinch me?!”

Yennefer laughs. “You’re more clever than that, Jaskier. More clever than Fringilla. How long did those illusions last?”

“Okay, yes, but-“

“And did you ever feel pain?”

“No! No, not really, but-“

“You’re here with me.” She sits up and looks him dead in the eye. “Jaskier, you’re safe.”

It should be comforting to hear these words. Her argument makes perfect sense. And yet, he can’t help but worry. Magic is something that is so far beyond him. How can he be sure that Nilfgaard didn’t adapt, didn’t learn from their past mistakes to make the illusions more believable? That when he goes to sleep tonight, he won’t wake up in a warm bed with Geralt at his side, promising him comfort, safety, and love.

Again, he’s pinched. “Ow! Would you stop that!”

“Not until you get it into your thick head that this is real.”

“Okay! Okay. It’s real. Thank you so much for your harassment.”

She narrows her eyes for a moment, but then she curls back into his side. Jaskier still can’t say for sure that this isn’t an illusion. He suspects that she can tell. They stay on the sofa for the rest of the night, eventually falling asleep to the sound of Nilfgaardian soldiers drawing close, but never close enough.

-

The next day is less frantic, but they have more things to do.

They finally take a bath, washing all the grime and dust off their skin. Jaskier scrubbed so hard he’s sure his skin will be an irritated pink for days to come. But he thanks the Gods he finally smells like something other than shit. Even if it is a little too close to lilac and gooseberries than he’d like.

Yennefer manages to heal her thumbs, though the discoloration of her fingers and wrists remain and likely will for a bit longer. She’s probably conserving power for Nilfgaard,. Though whether for defensive or offensive purposes, Jaskier doesn’t yet know.

She keeps him busy; sending him to do chores around the house. Gathering more herbs, cleaning the cabinet, washing their clothes. It’s grueling work, but he finds it keeps his mind quiet. And there’s really not much else he can do. With no lute, no notebook, or even a tuning key, Jaskier is left without his usual outlet.

He wishes he knew what happened to them. Maybe it’s a blessing that he still can’t remember how he was taken.

It doesn’t matter. There’s no where he can sing now where he won’t be recognized.

“Jaskier!” In the midst of dusting a very impressive collection of books, Yennefer beckons him over. Her dress today is as gorgeous and elaborate as he’s used to seeing her in. The lavish fabric and design is a treat for the eyes. The evidence that she was held captive is already beginning to disappear. Not for the first time, he finds himself wildly jealous of her. Either way, he listens and goes to her side.

“Yes, your majesty?”

She scoffs. “Here.”

He’s handed a flask. There are flowers etched into the side. Buttercups, if he’s not mistaken. “Thank you,” He says quietly, running his thumb over the pattern.

“Drink from this,” She points to the gift, “And you’ll always find that it tastes of lavender. Should you want to change the flavor, come to me. An easy enough fix.”

“Truly?” She smiles. A gentle curve of her lips. Jaskier has seen this expression more and more often. Feels greedy for it. “This is simply unfair. I have nothing to give to you. Don’t think I know your true motive: to hold this above my head for as long as we know each other!”

“Yes, Jaskier.” She says, rolling her eyes. “This is what I can hold over your head. Not the hundreds of other things. Like saving your life.”

“Of course! This,” he holds the flask aloft. “Is worth far more.” An easy way to soothe his anxieties. A quick sip of water infused with flavor will bring him back into the moment. Something words alone haven’t been able to do yet. He pockets it, and keeps it close to his side for the rest of the day, and into the week.

-

Time passes slowly inside the safe house. Yennefer works on charms, spells, and wards all throughout the day while Jaskier tends to the garden, the house, and whatever other chores Yennefer comes up with.

Each night they spend sleeping together. Jaskier isn’t sure he’d be able to sleep otherwise. (He thinks Yennefer sleeps better with him close by as well, but does her the courtesy of not mentioning this.) When he wakes up, he’s relieved to see he’s still in the same reality.

When he’s anxious, he grabs the flask and sips a bit of the crisp, lavender flavored water.

The Nilfgaard numbers grow thinner every day. Finally convinced, Jaskier hopes, that they aren’t anywhere to be found.

This is where he begins to relax.

“What do we do next?” He asks Yennefer after about a week of this new routine.

“We’re going to gather numbers. Seek out other sorceresses.”

“Oh, right.” To attack? To defend? Jaskier has heard about what happened at Sodden. The incredible power that Yennefer unleashed. He’s not sure what a smaller group of magic uses can do now. Maybe there will be political backing now. Smaller kingdoms that will band together to put an end to this nightmare they’re all going through.

He doesn’t know where he fits into that specific equation. So, like most things these days, he doesn’t think about it.

The garden has become his happy place. He loves all the flowers, the herbs, and the fruits that Yennefer has magicked into growing. He’s tasted things from far off countries, the juices sweet and sour on his tongue. And since Yennefer actively encourages him to tend to the plants, he finds himself outside more often than not.

They will eventually have to start eating something other than fruits, vegetables, and potatoes. Jaskier can hunt, but he isn’t the best at it. Nor is he entirely sure how to trick pray into their small bubble of safety. Traps would probably work best.

After having come to that conclusion, Jaskier spends some time outside working on a rabbit trap. Poor little fluffy bunnies won’t see what’s coming. He pokes his tongue out in concentration as he places carrots into a small box. Oh, they'll think that they're getting a feast when in actuality, it'll be Yennefer and Jaskier dining like they should be.

He startles when he hears rustling. It’s on the outside of the forcefield. Slowly, he stands to get a better look.

What he sees is a young girl, with bright blonde hair. She’s got a bow and an arrow, hunting something herself. Jaskier frowns. Well, looks like there won’t be any rabbit on the table tonight. He’s about to call out to Yennefer when he sees someone else.

His heart nearly stops. Just a few feet behind the girl is Geralt. Sword drawn, and eyes sweeping back and forth over the landscape. His hand is at his medallion.

Jaskier reaches for his flask and takes a quick sip. (Lavender.) Then, he goes inside as quickly as he can.

“Yenna? Yen!” She’s at her desk in her room. Vials and beakers scattered all around, bubbling, boiling, and a bit of trouble swirling within.

“What?” She hisses.

“We… we have company.” Thankfully, that’s all he has to say before she rises from her chair and follows after him.

When she sees Geralt, her eyes grow dark. But then she sees the girl alongside him. There is no hesitation as Yennefer steps through the barrier.

The girl stops in her tracks. She points her arrow at Yennefer. Behind her, Geralt stares, wide eyed and mouth agape. Jaskier waits for someone to say something. Anything.

“Well?” Yennefer asks, crossing her arms. “Are you going to stand there looking stupid and drawing attention to yourself? Or are you going to come inside?” Then, she turns around and walks right back into their safe little bubble.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asks quietly.

“Nilfgaard isn’t just looking for us, Jask. And those two are sending up a flare, telling them where we all are.” It’s all she says before she storms away.

He almost follows but finds himself frozen in place when Geralt steps inside, the girl following closely after.

Geralt's gaze turns to meet his own. His brow furrows. 

Jaskier grips his flask. Then, like a cad (and a coward), he tucks tail and runs towards his own room.

It’s too soon.

(It’s not real.)

It’s just too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got away from me
> 
> thank you so much for reading and sending me comments!! xoxoxoxo


	10. Chapter 10

If there wasn’t a child present, Yennefer would give into the temptation of wringing Geralt’s neck. As it is, she can hardly contain her chaos, which is still recovering from nearly two weeks of being bottled up. Two weeks of her imprisonment which is partly due to her affiliation with the witcher.

It’s not his fault, she knows. But she can’t forgive him regardless. Not on top of all the other sins he committed against her.

Still, she invites him (and the child) to her table. There’s no food on it quite yet. That was Jaskier’s job. Having him in the garden all day keeps him out of her hair. And she suspects that it’s been helpful for his recovery.

Geralt’s sudden appearance could seriously throw that off course. She doesn’t want the man to go back to second guessing everything he does, every kindness that she shows. Yet Geralt unintentionally ruining someone else’s well being is very in-character for him.

“Well?” She crosses her arms. “What are you doing here?” The witcher looks uncomfortable sitting next to the child, and even more so when Yennefer doesn’t relent staring at him. “Geralt.”

“Ciri was having visions.”

The young girl looks up. Big green eyes are steelier than they should be at such a young age. Yennefer is reminded of what it felt like to discover to have so much power. To be held captive by them until she learned how to control the chaos within. Visions, however, were not something she was plagued with. She turns her gaze back to Geralt. “Of?”

“You.” 

The word rings in her head. She looks at the child- Ciri, once more. This must be Geralt’s child surprise. It’s been what, five fucking minutes since he’s found her and he already needs help? How cruel fate is that he should be able to have a child when he’s so unwilling and Yennefer can’t. “What did you see?”

Ciri frowns and looks at the table. Her hands are bunched up into tight, shaking fists. She looks at the witcher. Geralt nods once, encouraging her. “There was fire. Everywhere. You… destroyed half of Nilfgaards army.”

Yennefer smirks. That memory, though new, brings her great joy. “I did.”

“You can teach me to control what I… what _I_ can do.” Though her tone is pleading, she seems determined. “I want to do to them what you did.”

What a delightful girl.

“She needs training,” Geralt supplies.

“And you think I will drop everything that I’m doing to help _you_?”

“To help _her_.” The witcher snarls, but Yennefer will not let his bad attitude dictate her decisions. It’s not lost on her that Geralt knows her desire for a child. Instead of taking her somewhere private, apologizing for all his misdeeds, and asking (begging) for help for his young daughter that he doesn’t know how to deal with, he parades the young girl in front of Yennefer. As if she could say _no_.

“Why should I?”

“She’s the fucking princess of Cintra!” He stands.

“Since when do you give a shit about politics?” So does she.

Geralt hums and looks off to the side. “It’s not about politics,” He mumbles. “It’s about her.”

Throughout the entire argument, Ciri’s eyes have been darting back and forth between the two supposed adults in the room. Yennefer feels the beginnings of embarrassment creep in. Like herself, Ciri has seen some nasty shit in the past few weeks. Her entire family is likely dead. All the child has left is the witcher and the clothes on her back.

Yennefer sighs sharply.

“There are two rooms at the end of the hall. One for you,” she looks at Ciri. “And one for _you_.” Her gaze turns on the witcher for a moment before she addresses the lost princess. “I’ll have a bath drawn and some clothes made. If you need anything, ask me.”

Ciri frowns, her eyes just as steely as before. It appears Yennefer hasn’t made the greatest first impression. Never before has something as simple as niceties bothered her before. Now she wishes she could explain what this man has done to earn her ire. The chance slips away as Ciri goes to investigate the room that Yennefer mentioned.

Making clothes is a small thing, but it will still leave her feeling exhausted, and she will likely have to have a few more days of rest. She’ll have to rework her plans on seeking out the rest of the sorceresses.

“Yenn-“

“Don’t call me that,” She snaps.

Geralt sighs. “Yennefer.”

“What more can I possibly give to you?” Yennefer whips around to face him. He’s so much taller than her, even when she’s wearing her heels. She juts out her chin a little more. “I will now be taking care of what should be _your_ responsibility. Nothing new.”

“Then don’t do it for me.”

“I’m not.” She pauses. “And while you’re here, I’ll thank you _not_ to bother my _friend_.” Yennefer takes special care to emphasize the word.

“Your friend?You mean Jaskier?” His expressions twists making him look constipated. “I-“

“Glad we understand each other. You’ll take a bath after Ciri; you smell disgusting. Then you can go hunting. I’m sick of vegetables.” Yennefer gathers her dress and leaves him standing by the table, not giving him the chance to say anything stupid and further incriminate himself.

Instead, she walks towards a different room entirely.

In a few days, the room has gone from something that belongs to her to something that belongs to Jaskier. Two different doublets that have been made (one dark green, another a lovely shade of powder blue), books and papers littered over the moderately sized desk, and plants and pots about the room. 

On the bed, Jaskier is curled up on his side. He’s got his flask clutched in his hands, his thumb running over the flowers etched into the side. Yennefer thought that he’d be worse than this, honestly.

She sits on the edge of his bed and takes her boots off. Then, she lays down and throws an arm around his waist. He lets out a puff of air.

They do not talk about moments like these. It’s commonplace, yet a forbidden topic of conversation. She presses her nose to his neck and breathes in. The two of them have also had the luxury of a bath whenever they’ve wanted, Yennefer using her chaos to heat up the water each and every time. That, too, has helped them. Him.

For a few minutes, they lay like that. Her heartbeat quiets, even as she hears movement outside of this room.

Jaskier, too, seems a bit calmer now. 

“Friends, huh?” He says with a shaking breath.

“Don’t push your luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for being patient for the next chapter! yesterday was my bday and i had to post my reverse bang today <3


	11. Chapter 11

Jaskier, graduate of Oxenfurt and the most famous bard on the continent is cowering in his room.

Sitting on his very fine bed with his arms wrapped around his knees, he overhears the low conversations of Yennefer, the lost princess of Cintra, and the fucking _witcher_.

In his hands, he holds the flask. Distantly, he worries about the flower etchings fading from running his fingers over it so often. He can’t bring himself to stop, though. Especially since he’s run out of his precious lavender flavored water. The only way he can refill it is if he walks past the table everyone is sitting at.

He’s traveled the world but can’t cross a fucking room.

Gods, what’s become of him?

Fuck.

His fingers itch for a pen. To write out all the shit he’s been feeling the past few weeks. It’s something of a blessing and a curse, however, that the whereabouts of his beloved lute are unknown. Jaskier can’t imagine what he’d write now. What darkness will spill forth from his imagination and onto the page. In the privacy of his own mind (which doesn’t often feel so private anymore), he wonders if his songs even exist. There are still callouses on his fingers and he can still string together a damn good lyric but… But is it real?

Yennefer would know. ( _Geralt_ would know.)

He can’t bring himself to ask them.

Fucking coward. 

Eventually, he grabs one of the marvelously rare books Yennefer is lending him and reads. He reads and ignores the hunger, thirst, and need for human contact until all the humans he could come into contact with disappear into their own rooms.

Yennefer is likely to join him later. For now, Jaskier revels in the feeling of being truly alone.

He sneaks out of his room and refills his flask and grabs some of the food that’s been left out conspicuously on a plate. Grateful to have been thought of, but annoyed that he’s now little more than a burden, he grabs the plate and heads outside.

The fresh air in the garden is marvelous. He eats in silence and watches the stars.

In all the visions, he was never outside. Maybe it was more complicated. Yennefer mentioned that details can be rather difficult to keep up like that, especially with the way the witch had kept him under for so long.

Sometimes he wonders if it's another way for her to get him to trust this world. Jaskier wishes he could say that the paranoia has lessened, and to a certain extent it has, but the doubt lingers. One day he hopes to live free of it. For now, he'll take the small moments of peace as they come.

Behind him, he hears footsteps.

Jaskier tenses but doesn’t turn around. Can already tell from the sound of their breathing who it is.

Geralt sits beside him. From the corner of his eye, Jaskier looks at him. He appears tired, his white hair hanging limply around his face. The clothes he’s wearing are the ones that Jaskier wore just a few days previously. Where once it might have brought him joy, it now unnerves him. 

Will Geralt notice if he reaches for his flask? Will he understand the significance?

No, probably not. Yenna wouldn’t have told him anything.

Unless this is all a dream.

Slowly, he puts the plate down beside him. It should look natural. Right?

Surely.

Yes, it should. He’s reaching for his flask. Naturally he would want a drink after eating so much. The meat was cold and strongly salted. It makes sense.

The flask is cold in his hands. His thumb can still feel the crevices left by the etchings of flowers. And when he brings it to his lips, crisp, lavender water hits his tongue. He’s soothed, but not as much as he’d want to be.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Jaskier barks out a laugh. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?”

“Hm.” Geralt also looks at the stars. Perhaps to avoid his gaze. If Jaskier is being honest, he’s both disappointed and relieved that he won’t have to deal with what he might see in those golden eyes. “It’s better that you’re here. Nilfgaard is looking for Ciri… and others that might know anything about her. Or me.”

Another laugh. Jaskier shakes his head. Oh, things really haven’t changed at all. Geralt would be the last to know. It is amusing to think about telling Geralt that he has already been found. Nilfgaard has had his way with him. That Geralt isn’t the knight in shining armor that Jaskier once thought him to be. “Yeah, I heard.”

Geralt hums again.

“Well,” Jaskier places his hands on his thighs. “I should really try and get some sleep.” Yenna will begin to wonder where he is. And he really doesn’t want to be here anymore. “Goodnight.” He stands ready to flee to his room.

“Wait.” Geralt is standing too. “I. Fuck. Jaskier, I-“

Jaskier takes another step back. “You don’t have to say it,” whatever it is. “It’s fine. It’s. I have to go. To sleep.”

“The way we left things. It’s not right.”

Melitele’s sweet fucking tits. He shakes his head frantically. “Don’t.”

“Jaskier,” And the way Geralt says his name, the way his tone shifts into something pleading- “ _Please_.” The fucking words that fall out of his mouth has Jaskier seeing things for how they truly are.

“No! No. No, no, no.” He presses a hand to his face. Then he remembers the flask. Geralt(?) is trying to talk to him but whatever he is saying is low on his list of priorities. Much to his dismay, however, he barely has anything left in the damn thing. “No.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt sounds like he’s underwater. Far away and muted.

It doesn’t matter what he says. Any moment now, Jaskier will plunge into the darkness, into a new scenario tailored to trick his heart into trusting again. They won’t get anything from him. Jaskier is well aware of all the tricks by now. “Stay back. This isn’t- you’re not-“

Familiar arms wrap around his waist.

Yennefer is at his side.

Is she a dream, too?”

But then she’s yelling at Geralt. Jaskier can hear each and every word but can’t quite register their meaning.

After an indeterminate amount of time, he’s being lead back into his room.

The world doesn’t fade to black.

Instead, he’s being shed of his doublet and boots. Pushed down into the bed. His head lays now in Yennefer’s lap where she places her fingers in his hair.

Dream but not a dream. Real but not real.

Jaskier really thought that he was getting better. In reality, he’s doomed to always be a hair’s breadth away from insanity. He curls further in on himself, hoping to fall asleep and not exist for a short period of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again for all the comments and kudos! we have caught up to what i wrote on my tumblog, so please be a bit patient and updates will take a bit longer 
> 
> xoxoxoxo

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @theamazingbard. uh, thanks for reading 
> 
> xoxo


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